


A Bit of Holly in Our Shared Palace

by LazyBaker



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Mind Palace, Sharing a Bed, post-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5518868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Hannibal spend their first Christmas together in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of Holly in Our Shared Palace

**Author's Note:**

> For yutopiashelter, I hope you like it!

Hannibal closed his book after reading one page, resting it against his chest and leaned further into his pillows. He wasn’t in the mood for Rumfoord and he wasn’t in the mood for any of the other books stacked high on his bedside table. Chiyoh had bought dozens of books from the thrift store ten miles west, down the mountain side in the small neighboring town over the weeks they’d been in the cabin. She’d bought them blindly, choosing them based on their cover, then divided her collection into three equal stacks.

He set the book on top of the stack, clicked the lamp off. It was dark, the middle of the night turned early morning with the curtains on the window drawn shut to help prevent the cold from seeping in.

Hannibal closed his eyes. Listened to the creaks of the house. The loud wind as the snow busied itself outside. Will slept in the room to his left. Hannibal had been in there only a handful of times before he’d been ushered out and back to his bed. His side was taking a long time to heal, an irritating consequence of Dolarhyde.

There was an uneven shuffling, then a door being opened. The hinges needed oiling, but Chiyoh preferred them this way. It was easier to tell if someone was sneaking in or out.

The slow gait was familiar. Will, tired and still off balance, was moving around. The steps grew nearer. Hannibal turned his head to face the door. Eager to see Will after so many hours, no matter how few, they’d been apart.

Will cracked the door open, saw Hannibal awake, and limped his way to Hannibal’s side. There was an arm chair next to the bed, comfortable for Will he’d been assured, that had been set there weeks ago. Will had dragged it in from the small den with his one good arm when it had become clear Hannibal would be spending much of his time lying in bed.

Will side stepped the arm chair completely, circled the bed to the empty side. Hannibal blinked, every ache and tired bit of his body seemed to disappear as he pulled the blankets aside, clearing the bed for him. The room was still slightly chilly despite the heater, though it didn’t bother him.

Will lowered himself gingerly onto the bed, groaning as he pulled his feet up and under the covers. Hannibal moved to help, but Will waved him off.

“I’m fine,” Will said, as he did every time when Hannibal would ask, getting himself comfortable. He winced as he moved his shoulder too much to the left, teeth bared. The muscles still sore and healing, the stitches having absorbed nearly a week ago. Hannibal would need to teach him the proper stretches soon.

Will pulled the blankets up to his chin. The scent of him rippled through Hannibal, a simmering excitement caught inside of him as his sheets and blankets and pillows would soon be seeped in the smell of Will.

Hannibal smiled.

Once settled, Will rubbed tiredly at his eyes and turned to look at Hannibal. It was odd, the first time in Hannibal’s life where someone could match his gaze and he felt an urge to demure. Shy away from the attention while anxious for it.

“Well,” Will said quietly after a few moments, voice pitched low, not wanting to gain Chiyoh’s attention, whose room was across the hall. The walls were quite thin. “It’s Christmas.”

“How rude of me, I didn’t get you anything.”

Will huffed a weak breathy laugh, though horribly genuine. Hannibal felt a new burst of warmth bloom in the base of his spine and rest delightfully cozily in his belly.

“I really wasn’t expecting you to go out shopping in this weather.”

“The roads would most likely be closed. Hardly ideal.”

“Too much snow anyways. You’d freeze and we’d be short one car,” Will sighed heavily, smiling. His scar was still pink, fresh and a bit sore to food that was too hot or too cold, but Will’s expressions were more effortless than ever. “I guess no new spool for me this year. You’ll have to get me something extra nice next year to make it up to me.”

“I’ll buy you a house. Some dogs. If we live on the shore, I’ll buy you a boat, too.”

“You’re not supposed to tell me.”

“I want to tell you everything.”

Will nodded, seemingly resigned to Hannibal’s intent to spoil him. He bumped his forehead against Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal shivered.

“Are you cold?” Will said. He looked worried, brows knotting together.

Hannibal shook his head. “Did you come in here to wish me a Merry Christmas?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Will yawned, small tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away. “You can’t either. Is it your side?”

“No. My mind is too busy to sleep.”

“I’ve never really been able to imagine you completely relaxed. A few years ago I didn’t even think you slept,” Will’s eyes were half-lidded tired with large blue rings dusting the delicate skin. His cold nose was pressed firmly against Hannibal’s bare shoulder, warming him up. “I kind of thought you just lived in your office. Slept in your suits.”

“You were wary of thinking me as human.”

“Humans aren’t dependable. They’re messy and mean. Not exactly someone you’d want as a paddle.”

“And now?”

“Now, you’re probably the most human human I’ve ever met,” Will’s breath puffed hotly against Hannibal’s skin, until it didn’t.

The room faded. Will stood, his limp gone, and walked.

Hannibal slipped from the bed. His side no longer ached. His body felt light and unharmed, healthy.

They were no longer in Hannibal’s bedroom nor inside the cabin at all. They were somewhere warm and humid. An establishment stinking of smoke and lined with mismatched woods from floor to ceiling. Vinyl peeling from the walls and linoleum that was sticky with every step Hannibal took. His feet no longer bare, but in a pair of his old oxford shoes he’d had tailored years ago. They looked as if he had just finished polishing them.

There were red and gold Christmas lights tacked to the walls, lighting the dim dankness of the room.

Will sat at the bar, his back to Hannibal. He had a beer bottle between his hands, rolling it back and forward.

“A home away from home?”

“More like a place of convenience.”

“But one full of sentiment.”

“And cheap beer,” Will said. His scar was gone, the lines of stress and age had smoothed out leaving him a younger version of himself. Hannibal wondered what he would have done if he’d been faced with this young and more innocent looking Will Graham who had not been made rough by the years. How little hold he would have had on his control to tempt him faster.

Will was dressed in his police uniform. It fit him well, the contrast between his regular baggy clothes he often chose to wear was horribly attractive. Will touched his face, then his hair. It was shorter, a utilitarian cut.

His ears stuck out wonderfully.

“Too many shifts to take care of it properly,” Will said. His eyes slid from the television hung on the wall and looked at Hannibal through the reflection of the mirror hung between rows of bottles.

Will patted the stool beside him. Hannibal sat. The bartender, blonde and face blurred--forgotten--opened a bottle with the edge of the counter, popping it off and sliding it towards him.

“Drink,” Will said. He tipped his beer towards Hannibal. Hannibal picked his up and clinked their bottles together. “It’s shitty and tastes more like water than anything else, but it gets the job done.”

“And what job is that?” Hannibal sipped at his beer. He pictured the taste. Too sour. An off kilter balance that made him wince. It was not something he would drink again. Or would drink outside of this little place Will had brought him to.

“A Christmas buzz,” Will said. He smiled at Hannibal against the lip of his beer, bright and happy. The memory had made him tipsy. Something which was not possible at the moment with the amount of pain medication he was taking.

There were people dotted throughout the bar, a large group in the corner attempting some sort of holiday carol, the tune familiar but the words slurred together becoming one cacophonous note burgeoning on harmonious.

“Where are we?”

“Not when?” Will arched his eyebrows, a youthful look that sent a spike down to the center of Hannibal. “Old Joe’s. It’s a cop bar, or it was. I don’t know if it’s still around. It was near the precinct I used to work at and had a discount for anyone with a badge.”

Will pointed to the badge on his chest, it shined brightly. It had been polished often. Proudly cared for.

“You came here so often you found it a suitable place to spend your Christmas.”

“It wasn’t like I was going to spend the day in church. Most of the time I covered shifts for people who had families. Not always, though,” Will shrugged. He downed the rest of his beer. His throat stretched, a long line of tendons, his Adam’s apple bobbing starkly. And further down Hannibal’s eyes fell to the opening of his uniform, three buttons undone, to the pale lines of his clavicles. Hannibal quickly looked away to the mirror and watched their reflections.

“My partner once invited me over for Christmas dinner, but I couldn’t. Having to sit at a table and attempt to be a functional human being was a little too much for me.”

“You disliked the prospect of seeing normalcy so intimately.”

“More like the prospect of scaring my partner off so badly he’d request a transfer.”

“He wouldn’t have deserved you.”

“No one but you, right?”

Hannibal smiled. Will smiled back.

“And what about you?” Will waved one hand around the room, showcasing it in one grandiose gesture. “I know it’s not Florence, but it was nice here. A place where I fit in for just a little while.”

“I’m quite fond of this one.” Will and him safe and alive and healing. Together. “I’m unable to picture a more perfect Christmas.”

“No ostentatious dinner parties? Not even when you were younger?”

Hannibal ran his fingers along the grooves of the wooden bar. It had been worn down by hands and elbows after decades of use.

“You seem vehement for me to call upon some magical winter wonderland of a day I don’t have,” Hannibal said. He moved his hand and placed it next to Will’s. “I’m enjoying myself. Thank you for showing me this place, Will.”

Will’s face reddened, the look of a shy young boy being flattered for the first time leapt to Hannibal’s mind.

“It was just a question.”

“There’s never ‘just’ anything between us.”

Will glared at him, face having cooled down though the tips of his ears were still pink.

“I don’t want a therapy session.”

“You climbed into my bed. You always sat in the chair, but this time you came and lied in my bed, seeking a more intimate kind of comfort.”

“You’re wrong.”

Hannibal blinked.

“What I was doing,” Will said slowly. “Was lying in my bed, trying to sleep. Then failing and wondering what the fuck I was doing and why I wasn’t in here with you.”

The room cracked. The carolers in the background slowly faded. The scent of smoke dissipated. Hannibal was lying on the bed. Will next to him with his long hair, his ears no longer jutting out, scruffy beard, and lines along his eyes and mouth.

Hannibal sorely wanted to reach out, but he stopped himself.

Will sat up by heaving himself onto his elbows, weight resting more on his right side.  
  
“So, no. No therapy for me. I’ve had my fill.”

Will reached beneath the blankets and pulled out a leafy green plant. It smelled like parsley.

Will leaned over Hannibal, his body warm and trembling slightly with exertion.

“You’re aware that’s parsley you’re dangling over my face, yes?”

Will nodded, the strain on his shoulder making his smile become a balance of wincing. “I am.”

“I suppose I should be happy it isn’t a knife.”

“Hannibal--“ Will cut himself off. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed tightly, getting rid of whatever words had been on the verge of being said. “Quit being so dramatic. I’m not going to stab you in the face. Or anywhere else.”

A flicker of disappointment wisped through Hannibal. Will glared at him.

“I don’t have any plans of stabbing you or carving my name into your back tonight. Does that make you feel better? Because my arm is starting to get tired.”

“Vastly.” Hannibal said. He smiled up at Will. Enjoying the lines crinkling Will’s eyes. The contrast from the young boy at the bar to the man in bed with him. “May I venture into the reason why you’re holding a faux-mistletoe above me like this?”

“It’s a bit self-explanatory.”

“Humor me.”

“It’s green and we don’t exactly have the luxury of mistletoe. And I’m not asking Chiyoh to go buy some.”

“She wouldn’t judge you.”

“No, she’d glare at me and ask me what I was going to do with it. I’d like to avoid broaching this particular topic with her,” Will said. He huffed. His cheeks reddening delightfully. Hannibal wanted to reach up and touch him, press his fingertips against the heat of his cheeks, rake his nails through his stubble.

He didn’t.

He felt a nervous excitement bubble inside his chest. He hadn’t felt like this since the cliffside. Only ever with Will. He was the only person who had ever inspired this reaction from him. He treasured it and let the nervousness sweep through him. His palms became sweaty and his heart picked up, beating faster and faster. An inexperienced sprint after decades of a long steady run.

“You hardly need a plant acting as an excuse to kiss me.”

“What if I wanted one?”

“I would ask you why you seemed to need one, but then I would be wasting both our time when we could be much more productive,” Hannibal tilted his head up, baring himself to Will. Giving what he had of himself and letting Will do as he pleased. It was heady. “What a shame that would be."

“You’re not capable of shame,” Will said, he looked down Hannibal’s face, eyes tracing his lips.

“The herb going to waste above my head might change that.”

“Shut up,” Will dropped the parsley on Hannibal’s face. Hannibal grunted. The leaves blocked his view.

Will kissed him. A gentle press that left Hannibal panting so hard his side began to hurt. With a vague acknowledgment to his stitches and his bruised ribs, he pressed up, lifting himself to kiss Will back.

Will plucked the parsley off of Hannibal, set it blindly on the table beside the bed without taking his eyes off of him. Hannibal felt himself warm, his face heated in a way he had only ever seen in others. He felt sated and horribly discontent for Will and his lips to lean back and leave him so alone.

Will fell back onto the pillows. Closer this time, their shoulders touching. The cotton of Will’s shirt felt obscene against his bare skin. Will’s hair laid lightly on Hannibal. He turned to face him, sniffing the crown of his head. Organic soap and the familiar scent of sweat. Fondness swelled inside of Hannibal, so intensely he had to close his eyes.

“I can’t count how often I’ve thought about what it would be like to have you this way.”

“I know,” Will pulled up the blankets, covering them both. Tucking Hannibal in as best he could with one hand. Hannibal couldn’t stop looking at him. Not a new development, but one aspect of himself he was learning to appreciate more.

Will kissed his shoulder. Hannibal’s breath hitched. He didn’t stop himself this time from reaching up to cradle the unmarred side of Will’s face, fingers drifting lazily and happily along the shell of his ear.

“If you say it was ‘delicious’ I’m packing my bags.”

“I’m finding this dramatic side to you quite charming.”

“God,” Will covered his face with his hands. “Please stop talking, Hannibal.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/)


End file.
